Bad Cop
by Trogdor19
Summary: Daryl asks Carol to be his recruiting partner. She has an interesting set of conditions. One shot. Set roughly after 5x13 "Forget". Starts with pushup contest between Daryl & Michonne & ends angsty, with Daryl asking Carol to recruit with him and watch his back. But Carol's not sure if her loss-tattered heart can bear that much proximity to the man she's come to love all too much.


_Author's Note:_

 _This started out as a way to examine all the reasons I thought Daryl and Carol would make a great recruiting team, but it turned out they were both trying to give each other a real home but hadn't had the leverage to make it work just yet. I had a nice time letting them both even the playing field with each other._

 _Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

* * *

 **Bad Cop**

Carol washed the dishes methodically, enjoying the warm water and tickle of soap bubbles on her wrists.

The front door creaked open and she immediately tensed. She'd been baking cookies, so she didn't have dinner ready yet. That would set Ed off for sure.

"Hey, Michonne," Daryl's gravel-soft voice drifted in from the living room. "Carol around?"

She sagged against the edge of the sink, almost laughing as she lifted the back of one wrist to press to her forehead. The warm water, the dish soap, the actual sink and electric lights…she'd slipped for a second. Forgotten that the dead walked, the whole world had changed, and the man most likely to come through her door these days was Daryl Dixon, not Ed Peletier.

Relief bubbled up through her, bright and hopeful, and then she really did laugh. Considering how much she'd lost, it was ridiculous that remembering their current situation would feel like good news. But there you had it. There was no arguing with emotions, unreliable little things that they were.

"Well, now I can't seem to recall if Carol's here," Michonne's voice replied from the living room, a little out of breath from the workout she'd been doing. "But if you did a few push ups with me, I bet I'd remember."

He snorted. "Don't need no push ups. Ain't got those skinny-ass arms like you do."

"Skinny, huh? Bet I can do more than you can."

Carol grinned and grabbed the dish towel, walking away from a half-full sink of dishes with only the quickest twinge of guilt. In her new life, no one would mind if she left the dishes half-done. Hell, if one of the others noticed, they'd be far more likely to pitch in and finish them than to be upset with her for the oversight.

Besides, she didn't want to miss this.

"A'right," Daryl grunted. "But don't you come crying to me 'bout feminist liberation after I beat your ass."

The rumble of voices sounded from the back yard and Carol glanced at the group on the rear porch as she passed the glass door. But her focus was mostly on the living room, on the black leather and lighter wings of the vest as Daryl stretched out into push-up position. And the dark seat of his pants. She'd patched those pants a dozen times, and they'd never interested her so much before. But they usually hung too loose to show off the sculpted muscles beneath.

Now, laid out with just his toes and hands contacting the ground, body a taut line in between, that wasn't the case. She made a mental note to pick the lock and swipe his pants the first time he took a shower, leaving him with no choices other than the better fitting jeans she intended to commandeer for him.

Goodness, but hunting did appear to be good exercise.

Carol leaned against the doorframe and tried to decide if she ought to feel guilty about enjoying the eye candy. But no. Daryl's ass definitely qualified as one of life's little pleasures. If he caught her looking and blushed, well, that would be even better.

These days, she had a hard time enjoying anything without getting an ominous cramp in her stomach, like everything was about to go wrong.

Ever since she'd gotten to Alexandria, she'd tried to be grateful for the running water, the safety, the plentiful food. But every moment of pleasure felt like a cruel joke, just one more thing that could be taken away.

"You ready to go on three?" Michonne asked.

The back door opened and Rick came back inside with Abraham, Glenn and Maggie. He glanced at the two people on the floor, then Carol.

"What's going on here?"

"Far as I can tell," she said dryly, "a whole lot of sibling rivalry."

Daryl's head jerked up and he rolled to lay on his side on the floor. "You're going to get shot someday, sneaking up on people like that."

"I didn't sneak up on anybody. You two were just too busy measuring your dicks."

Michonne grinned, hopping her legs through in a smooth, gymnastic movement so she sat on her ass instead of propped up on her arms. "My dick's about three feet long and sharp enough to sever a spinal column. Like to see you boys come up with anything to beat it."

"As your new boss," Rick said mildly, "I think I take exception to that."

"Only one way to prove her wrong, pretty boy," Maggie said.

Glenn whipped around. "Who's going to give me odds on Daryl?"

"Michonne," Carol and Maggie said together.

Rick chuckled. "Isn't anybody going to bet on me?"

"You're a one-legged man in a sorry kind of asskicking contest, arms like those," Daryl said.

"I'll be sure to use both legs when I kick your ass then," Rick said, getting down on the floor. "What are the rules?"

"No resting. Last woman standing gets bragging rights over you sorry assholes into perpetuity." She nodded at Daryl. "You need to work on your abs. You've got arms for days, but it's your core strength that'll hold you back. It's a weakness. Every fight starts in the core."

"Don't need no sorority girl crunches. Merle never did a push up a day in his life until he went to the Marines and he could hit harder than anybody in our whole county." He wiggled his jaw, like he was remembering.

"I'll vouch for that," Rick said.

Carol glanced at Daryl, not sure if it was going to upset him to remember how his brother had originally ended up cuffed to that roof.

But he just scoffed. "See? Dixons run on pure mean." He slapped his stomach, then rolled up into position. "We don't need ' _abs_.'"

Carol burst out laughing, because the derision in his drawl when he said abs made it sound like it was something pink and spangly that could only be ordered from the back ads in a Cosmo magazine.

He flicked a glance at her, his face not moving at all, but somehow seeming to convey a smile, in that peculiarly Daryl way he had.

Michonne unfurled herself back into plank position.

"Go!" Maggie called.

Rick and Daryl's dark heads were bent close together as they started to push off bouncy reps. The room seemed to heat with the tang of testosterone and boisterous male energy.

"You call those pushups, ladies? I want to see some sweat dripping!" Abraham called out, clapping his hands. "Double time, come on double double double!"

Rick and Daryl both shot up in speed, matching each other as they racked off pushups faster and faster, both of them huffing out laughter and insults and curse words in near-equal measure. Carol didn't even realize she was grinning until her cheeks started to get sore.

Across the room, Michonne raised and lowered herself langorously, as if she was practically resting in motion.

"Ah, I can't take this pansy crap! Let me show you how the real men do it!" Abraham fell straight forward from standing, landing in push up position and starting to count off picture perfect military reps.

"Okay, Michonne to win," Glenn said, "But who wants to bet me for who gets second?"

Maggie poked him with an elbow. "You're just lucky we live in a world without money or I'd make you see somebody for your gambling habit."

"I'm being kind, giving you boys a handicap since I was working out before you showed up," Michonne said.

"I'll do forty extra after you quit," Daryl grunted. "Just to be fair, like."

Michonne laughed, not even breathing hard. "You'll be lucky if you _make_ it to forty, country boy. I've never seen you do a minute of non-walker-induced exercise in all the time I've known you."

"Now that ain't true. I dig graves all th' time." He was breathing hard now, his muscles swelling under the strain. They still moved easily, lifting the thick weight of his body again and again.

They made a damn good showing, in Carol's admittedly biased opinion. Rick's arms gave out first. Abraham started to flag next, grunting. He and Daryl got stuck on the same rep, quivering halfway up and not quite able to get any further. Sweat dripped from Daryl's hair and the red rag swung from his back pocket as he trembled.

Abraham huffed, staring down Daryl as he waited for the other man to fall first. Carol arched a brow, a little surprised in spite of herself that Daryl had matched him that long. Abraham's arms were as thick around as her legs, but her Georgia redneck best friend just didn't have an ounce of quit in him.

Michonne racked off two more pushups while the other guys struggled, and then Abraham fell flat on his face, the whole house rattling from the impact.

Even then, Daryl didn't rest. His body shook harder, the red rag in his back pocket twitching as the tremors made it all the way down into his boots. And then, centimeter by centimeter, he pushed back to the top.

Michonne started laughing, breathless now. "Damn, farm boy."

"I ain't done," he said, and started to lower himself again. He only made it halfway before his right shoulder gave, sending him rolling across the carpet. It was the one he'd injured last week, when a walker got hold of it and pulled his hand through a wall all the way up to the shoulder. Carol winced, but Daryl just sat up and shook sweaty hair out of his eyes, then called Rick a pussy.

Michonne sat up with a wide grin, and for a while, everybody was laughing and insulting each other, the mingled smell of all their sweat somehow familiar after all those months on the road.

Carol's gaze fell to the floor with that pang that came sometimes. When she never wanted to leave them and she felt the tug of panic that told her to flee all at the same time. They were so good. Cheerful and wholesome despite everything they'd been through. And she didn't really belong with that, not any more.

When she looked back up, Daryl caught her eyes, twitched his chin toward the front porch, and she remembered he'd asked for her when he first showed up.

She withdrew, taking an extra minute to compose herself in the kitchen, and then buttoned two pearl buttons on her cardigan before she went out into the humid air on the front porch.

He was already there, perched up on the rail like he was an animal who'd found his tree. It was the place he'd spent most of the first few days they'd been here, when he wasn't patrolling the roof.

She smiled, picturing him and Rick matching off side by side on the floor. Their rough and tumble friendship made her happy, because she'd worried for a while that she'd come between them, and she didn't want that. Daryl would need Rick, when she— She cut the thought off. She couldn't leave her group when they were in a new place she didn't trust, even if she truly knew if she wanted to leave, which she didn't.

"Somebody's in a good mood," she teased.

He rubbed his right shoulder. "Good mood, hell." He spat into the yard. "Just got beat in a push up contest by a girl."

She laughed and the corner of his mouth tipped up beneath the protective curtain of all those dark, jagged strands of hair he wouldn't let her cut.

She knew why, and it broke her heart a little. But then, Daryl always did.

"How bad is it?" She crossed the porch, brushing his hands aside to feel his shoulder for swelling.

"Had worse."

She looked down her nose at him, letting him know what she thought of him throwing her words from Atlanta back into her face.

"Don't you give me your mom look."

"You stop acting like a child and I'll stop acting like a mom." She slapped his hand away when he tried to keep her from examining his shoulder. Once she was sure she'd won, she started to massage it. Very softly, careful with the spots that made the edge of his eye twitch with pain he'd never voice.

She didn't ask what he'd come for. Instead, she leaned her hip against the railing and worked on his hurt muscle, letting herself soak in his silence the same way she'd enjoyed the hot dishwater.

 _For this, too, will pass away someday._

"I want you to come with me."

She blinked, at first not sure the question hadn't come from her, from some deep and dark place in her that knew no morality, just desire and selfishness. But no, it was Daryl's deep, gravelly voice that had said it.

"What? Where are you going—Ah. The recruiter job."

He nodded, twitchy energy suddenly pouring off him. He shot off the railing, her hands falling away as he started to pace, setting out his argument. "Aaron's okay. Decent shot. Ain't got no grit, though. Push comes to shove, I'll be wiping his ass when I oughta be watching my own. Get him killed."

"You can't 'get' him killed if it's his own fault," she said, and stepped in front of him so she could be sure he'd heard her. Because she'd had all the same thoughts, and she didn't want Daryl carrying that weight after he brought the body home to Eric.

"Plus, people ain't gonna listen to him out there. You saw how Rick reacted. Aaron's too clean. Too nice."

"So you want me to come because I'm dirty and mean?" Carol smiled, folding her arms. "I've got to admit, Pookie. That's a beguiling argument."

He huffed out a breath of laugh and stopped pacing. "People'll listen to you. They ain't gonna trust their women and kids somewhere with a guy like me. But you're a woman. And you're like the people out there. The survivors, the ones we want, they'll like you."

She looked at him, but she couldn't keep her face steady enough to hold his eyes for long. She tried to swallow around the sudden lump in her throat.

"Plus, you know." He gestured with a rough, scabbed-up hand. "You'll have my back."

She had to turn away. Blinking rapidly and toying with her necklace as she paced slowly across the porch to give her an excuse for hiding her face.

It was times like this, when he was so completely earnest, when he trusted her so damn much he didn't even try to hide what she meant to him. That's when she got the itch the most. For the backpack of supplies hidden in one of the vacant houses, for the open forest. For never having to dig another grave as long as she lived.

His Zippo lighter clicked open, scraped into flame and she heard him inhale. She wanted to rip the cigarette out of his mouth.

"You know I can't leave yet," she said, turning.

His mouth twitched and he blew out smoke, flicking the ash with that quick arc of his arm that always bothered her because it belonged to his life before. It was such a practiced movement but not one he'd needed all the years they'd known each other. "Ah," he said dismissively.

"Yes, I know you trust them." She looked up the street, keeping her voice down.

"Don't trust 'em. But I got their number. They're nice, little dumb."

"Dumb can get you in plenty of trouble. As can a wild card citizen or two, and there are a lot of people penned up in here." She folded her arms. "Bad enough that you're going to be gone. It's not safe for the group for me to take off, too."

"I thought about all that." He started pacing, seeming to forget to smoke now that she didn't seem to be rejecting him so much as his idea. "Gonna take me a while to fix up the bike, help Glenn shore up that RV."

"We're going to take the RV?"

"Be nice to have shelter every night."

She watched his back, thinking of living with him. Just the two of them, alone in a mostly empty world in their own tiny little home. When he paced back her way, she looked out at the night so she wouldn't have to see his eyes.

"While I'm working on that, you can be spying around," he said. "By the time we leave, Rick and Michonne will have security all fixed up and you'll know every fart that gets let out under the covers 'round here. If these people aren't bad—and they ain't—then it's just about plugging the holes in the defenses."

Carol tipped her head, getting ready to argue, and he jerked to a stop in front of her, his cigarette lighting up cherry red as he drew on it.

"Don't," he snapped. "You don't belong here. Wearing this shit. Putzing around with all those housewife ladies you hate." He blew the smoke away from her but the butt of his cigarette caught on her sweater when he flicked the edge of her cardigan. "This ain't you. And I don't care why you're doin' it. If we're gonna live here for good, I ain't gonna let you play pretend forever."

"What about you?"

"What ' _bout_ me?" he shot back.

"Playing town hoodlum." She snatched the cigarette out of his hand and took a long drag. She hadn't smoked since high school with her girlfriends, but she hadn't lost the knack. She blew out a thin line of smoke just to the right of his shocked face, then tapped the ash into the flower beds.

"I ain't playin'. I'm just being what I am. They want me to shower every damn day, wear all their khakis and shit, that's on them. Ain't gonna happen."

"You're not being you." She held up the cigarette. "This isn't you." She flicked her ash angrily toward the red stain on the front porch where all her scrubbing hadn't gotten the stain of dried possum blood out of the Trex decking. "That isn't you. You'd never have gutted an animal right on our front porch like a welcome mat for walkers. You're acting like you're from the wrong side of the tracks, but this world doesn't even have trains anymore!"

She didn't really want another puff of smoke but she took one anyway, just to make him mad. It worked too, his eyes following her hand like he was the one that wanted to rip it out of her mouth.

"Look at this place." Daryl nodded down the street, his hair swinging derisively with the movement. "I don't belong in a place like this. Fucking fancy ass houses like this."

"What's wrong with the people here, Daryl?" she asked. "You think they're not bad people, so why don't you like them?"

"You kiddin' me? Bunch of politicians and lawyers, can't do shit."

"What should they be able to do?"

"Hunt! Kill a damn walker without a hand grenade, Jesus. Common fucking sense wouldn't be too much to ask." He snatched at the cigarette but she held it out of his reach.

"So basically, everything you can do."

"Yeah." He looked at her warily. "Why? Ain't like it's hard."

"Because in the world that died, being a lawyer or a politician was valuable. They made lots of money, so they could afford houses in the 'low 800s,'" Carol quoted Deanna's pitch. "Now, hunting's valuable. Fixing things and being able to pull off runs is valuable. Being able to protect your family is valuable." She waved a hand down the street. "In this world, people like you deserve the biggest houses. Because your skills are the most valuable."

He just stared at her.

"And as for what people think of you, they chose you as their recruiter. You're the face of the whole town, and the only one they think is tough enough to stay alive outside these walls." Carol put out the cigarette on the rail and lay the butt aside to throw away later. "When you're not around, they talk about you like you're some kind of comic book hero. Just like they did at the prison."

Daryl looked up the street, his face shadowed behind the strands of hair. "Why are we jawing on 'bout houses?"

"I'm making a point," she said. "Because for a lot of reasons, the recruiter job is perfect for you. But if you go into it the wrong way, it's only going to hurt you more."

"So you ain't goin' with me, that it?" He sounded like he was just barely hanging on to his temper.

Carol had him in her sights now, and she was more certain of this than she'd been of anything in weeks. She lay her hands on the porch rail behind her, and took the only shot she had. "If I did, I'd want something in return."

He frowned, glancing at her. "What'd you need that you ain't got? Why didn't you ask me before?"

She held up two fingers and waggled them. "Two things."

He jerked his chin, relaxing now that she'd agreed to consider it. "Burn that sweater, I'll give you three."

"You trying to get my clothes off, Dixon?" The corner of her mouth tipped up.

"Them ain't hardly _clothes_."

"We playing dress up here or are we negotiating?"

He gave her a little half smile, his eyes gleaming. "Shoot."

"I want you to get a reputation." She nodded out at the town. "Dirtier than the one you've already got. They're afraid of you but they're also starting to see you as some kind of knight, protecting the town. I want you to get a little erratic. Find the town asshole and beat him down harder than you need to. String yourself up a necklace of walker ears, burn some dead ones in the park. Whatever. Draw attention."

She wasn't sure she'd ever seen Daryl beam, but this came close.

He swiveled, leaned back against the porch rail next to her. "Shit. It's kinda nice to have you back." He bobbed a nod. "I can give some asshole a kickin', scare some kiddies. What else you got?"

"You don't even want to know why?"

"Hell, I ain't never needed a reason to have fun. But that ain't what you were telling me last week when you said get cleaned up. Try to fit in, and all that."

"I changed my mind. You don't need these people to love you, but you do need _us_." She moved to face him, hooking a thumb at the house behind her. "I want you to pick out a room. You keep bringing back strays like you've found a home for every unwanted thing on earth, but when you're here you sit out on the edges, acting like there's a place for everybody but you." She studied him. "When you're home, I want you to be _home_. You're better when you're near Judith, Carl, Rick. You care about the whole group, I know that." She straightened the edge of his vest. "But I also know who your family is."

He glanced at her. "This is your house, too."

"I know." Her voice came out softer than she meant it to, because that knot was back in her throat. She cleared her throat. "Be an asshole all around town, be loud and unpredictable and scary and dangerous. But in here, be yourself. Don't put up a front, because none of us are going to buy it anyway. Get some real sleep for once. Those are my terms. Okay?"

He ducked his head. "If I'm gonna do that, you have to, too."

"What? What do you mean?"

He yanked at the edge of her cardigan. "No flower sweaters. None of that damn _smile_." His drawl drew it out like an insult and she gave him her perkiest, most plastic smile.

"You mean this one?"

He spat off the side of the porch, not deigning to answer. "And put your damn knife back on."

"Daryl…" It made something throb, way back in her chest, to see how much he hated the act she'd been putting on.

She caught his hand and his eyes widened as she brought it around behind her, tucked it up under the back of her sweater. Settled his palm over the brass knuckle hilt of the trench knife he'd found for her that first winter.

His mouth twitched as he bit the inside of his cheek.

They were close now, his arm around her in what would look like an embrace to anyone who didn't know about the knife.

They'd be close all the time, out there, she realized suddenly.

If she agreed to do this for real, they'd become even more inextricably intertwined. They'd be alone every night, every day. None of the rest of the group to buffer what became terrible, scraping, beautiful honesty when they were alone. It was hard to be seen that clearly, all the time. More naked than naked.

It's why she'd never crossed the line into sex with him. He was too deep under her skin already. It wasn't safe to need anything in a world like this, because you couldn't keep anything long. Not heat, not safety. Not love.

Daryl's fingers twitched against the small of her back, his palm heating the metal of her knife. She'd been holding him there too long. His gaze dropped to her mouth.

She'd have to dig his grave with her own hands if he died. His safety would hang so much on their judgment of the humans they found out there. If they judged wrong…

She let him go, moving away to grip the far railing and stare out at the flowerbeds. Jesus. They had _flowerbeds_ here. Tiny little plots set aside for nothing other than the encouragement of decorative beauty.

"What's it gonna be?" he rumbled.

Because he was her friend, first. He knew despite all her posturing, she hadn't really made a decision.

She'd half-planned on leaving the entire time she'd been back since Terminus. First, she stayed because they needed to rescue Beth. Then, because Daryl was imploding over her death and Carol couldn't trust anyone else to pull him back from the edge. Then, because she didn't trust this town with her family.

But the whole time, she'd been holding back. Two layers away from her real self.

Now Daryl was asking for her to be real again. And she wasn't sure she even knew where to begin. Acting, she could do. She could be steady for him. Perky, for Olivia and the town residents. Ruthless and paranoid, for Rick. What could she be, just for herself? Did she deserve to be anything?

After Sophia?

David.

Karen.

Mika.

Lizzie.

Did she deserve anything?

She stopped breathing, staring down at the dark dirt. And yet it was Daryl that she saw.

Concerned eyes, his chin propped on his crossbow. An exploding milk jug full of water when it slipped because he was trying to carry hers, too. The way he'd carried the body of that child-sized walker to the fire. Respectful, filled with the sacred in a way he never was on the few occasions they'd been in a church.

 _We ain't ashes._

It was what he'd said to her in Atlanta, and he'd already changed so much. Even just since then. He was more man than she'd ever known. So many layers and corners and hidden places in him.

She wanted to see what he'd become.

She was terrified. Bone-cold flat-out terrified to risk loving him, or anybody, more than she already did.

But she couldn't help wanting to know. And he'd asked her to watch his back.

"Carol?"

"Hmm?" She couldn't even manage words. Just a sound, gripping the porch rail so hard her old bones ached with it, hoping he didn't see the trembling way down deep in her.

She didn't deserve this, didn't deserve any of them. But she was scared to leave them because she was afraid they might need her. And that was impossible for any mother to walk away from.

But then, Sophia had been too good for her, too, hadn't she? Too sweet, too beautiful. And she'd stayed with her little girl until her dying day.

"Why you want me to be an asshole? Round town, I mean." Something scuffed against the floorboards behind her. "I don't mind. I mean, I wasn't jokin' about it bein' fun. Just…don't sound like you. Don't sound the way you're usually bossin' me 'round."

She turned around, and the sight of him pierced her right through. The lump rose in her throat again but this time she let the tears quiver in her eyes and didn't try to swallow them back down. He asked her to be herself, and this was her.

Vicious. Uncertain. Strong. Unworthy.

"Everybody needs a good cop and a bad cop," she said. "In here with Rick, or out there, recruiting with me." She came closer, brushing his hair aside and kissing his forehead. "But it's best if people don't know you're actually the good cop."

He looked at her. Dead in the eyes, so close she could have kissed him for real. But that wasn't for now, not for this moment on this porch. Right now, she had as much to deal with as she could handle and more, just accepting how much future they had ahead of them. Especially given how close she'd just agreed to live it alongside him.

She headed for the front door. "You better pick your room tonight, if you want me to start chattering around town about how I'm going to need more cookies to do my recruiting."

"Ain't no rooms left in this house. Michonne took the last one."

She looked back over her shoulder, stripping off her cardigan as she held the door to the house open. She winked. "Guess you'll just have to share with me, partner."


End file.
